Just A Bedtime Story
by YourOwnDangerousAmbition
Summary: Normal high school, normal people, normal life. Macy lives comfortably in her normal day-to-day routines, but she is about to meet someone that just may help her realise why normal just doesn't seem to cut it anymore.


"Have a good day, Macy. Love you."

I stare blankly back at my mom, too tired to smile.

"Love you too," I say as I shut the car door and march across the asphalt to the sidewalk. My ghetto messenger bag craned away from my neck, trying to slip off my shoulders. I slid it back up, mentally noting to myself the need for a new bag. The plaza I walked across now was filled with teenagers, all waiting for the same disgusting fate. School.

Who really _likes _school, anyway? Well, besides the overly smart people. School is like a nightmare; you hate it, yet you go through it. Hell, let's turn that into a metaphor. School _is _a nightmare. My own personal nightmare.

"Hey grumpy," says a familiar airy voice from next to me. It's my friend, Lacey.

"Morning," I greet with a tired smile. I secretly wished for a gallon of coffee. And maybe a doughnut.

"You know," Lacey says to fill the silence, "it really doesn't feel any different as a Junior. Depressing."

"Maybe that's cos this is our first day . . .?" I said with a smart-ass tone.

Lacey sighs.

"Shut up."

* * *

Shukumei High seems just as broken down and ghetto as ever. It honestly hadn't changed one bit since sophomore year. Which is the way I like it. At least this place has a story to tell. New schools are too much like ritzy extravagant places, which makes me uncomfortable. I blend in more with the trashy places. Ironic.

I check my class schedule after finding my new locker and cramming all my crap in it. First hour: PreCalc. Delightful.

I go upstairs to the math hallway and find my room. It's a smaller room, with seats all crowded together facing a massive white board. Since when did they take up the _whole _wall?

I drop my messenger bag down next to a vacant seat and wait to see who else arrives to experience the hell of a math class bright and early first hour. Half of the people that walk in are people I never really talk to, but have seen randomly in the hallways before. One guy, a short dark-skinned kid named Steven, has known me since middle school. He's okay, I just don't talk to him much on my free time. I'm hoping he's not the only person I remotely like that ends up in this class.

My friend I've known since first grade, Tonya, walks into the classroom. I manage to smile at her and beckon to a seat next to me. We had had a math class together before, in middle school. We did stupid stuff the whole time and accomplished pretty much nothing. It was an easy class, I got an A the whole year. Tonya . . . not so much. She didn't do too well on the final and had to re-take the class. But she eventually did a summer class to catch up and here we are, reunited at last. Oh boy.

The last person that walks in catches a sliver of my attention. And a sliver of the whole class's attention. It's not necessarily that I'm a person who likes to stare, but you really can't help it at a time like this. It was like Jesus decided to come down from his comfy palace in Heaven and stroll about this ghetto high school for a while. And freak out some kids in a PreCalc class.

This guy was practically glowing. His face was textured like golden porcelain; it looked so smooth and flawless and _bright. _His tanned skin looked like coffee broth, and his eyes were astonishingly blue, kind of like someone whipped up some blueberry kool-aid and made him stare at it for a really long time. His hair- his hair. . . Wow. His hair was brown, and fell in the weirdest angles as they framed his face. Either this really was Jesus, or I'm magically in Hollywood next to some stunt double no one's ever heard of.

Tonya and I both stared at him. And stared. And then realized we were staring, turned around, and mouthed to each other what we were both obviously thinking.

_Who the hell is this? _

The imitation of Jesus strolled in as if no one was watching his every move. He casually walked up to the second row, finding a random desk to sit at. The desk was surrounded by an empty seat on every angle adjacent to it. Why was he sitting alone? Isn't he some popular prep that everyone goes ga-ga over?

"Macy," snapped Tonya. Literally. Her fingers were waving in front of my face, snapping and clapping, demanding attention.

"Eh?"

"Creeper scale off the charts, here."

"Oops. Sorry."

I focused my attention back where it belonged. The teacher was babbling on about how failing this class was easy if you didn't pay attention, blah blah blah . . . I wasn't really interested. Numbers don't like me, I don't like them. It's a mutual hate-hate relationship.

Somehow the teacher was able to babble on like that the whole hour. Which was great, cos Tonya and I achieved a lot in that time. Three hang-man games, two mad libs, and a cheesy story on the lonely life of a poncho named Ernie. Win.

"So if you could have that written up and turned into me tomorrow, that'd be great. Bye class. Have a good first day."

Bull. Teachers never mean that. The subscript of those phrases usually just means, "Goodbye, good luck, good riddance, get out."

Tonya and I gathered up all our crap and walked out of the tiny classroom. After Tonya waved goodbye and scuttled off to her next class, my stupid messenger bag slid off my shoulder and decided to puke up papers and pencils everywhere right outside the threshold to the math room. I cursed under my breath and bent over, shoving stuff hurriedly back in my stupid bag. I straightened myself out, and looked down at my schedule to see where my next class was. Chemistry- with that one teacher . . . what was his name? Oh yeah, Fullerto-

"You missed one," said someone from behind me.

I didn't want to mistake it for a comment directed at someone other than me so I waited for a second so I didn't look stupid. I heard a throat clear from behind me, so I turned quickly around, embarrassed.

"Huh?"

It was Jesus. Er, the guy from PreCalc.

He held a small notebook up higher so I could focus on it. It was my PreCalc notebook.

"Oh." I gently grabbed the notebook from his extended hands and hugged it to my chest. "Thanks."

He waved it off.

"No problem."

And with that, I was smiling apologetically and hurrying down the hallway to the stairs. I would say it was because I didn't want to be late for Chemistry, or I could just admit to the fact that me plus talking to an extremely attractive guy equals awkward and nervous with a topping of idiocy.

Don't I just have a way with words?

* * *

Fullerton. That was the name of the Chemistry teacher. Basically, an old fart who should have retired years ago when he had the chance. But nope. Instead he results to yapping on about burning bookshelves in his childhood while trying to adjust the hearing aids clasped on the back on his floppy ears. Lacey, who was fortunately in the same class as me, spent the whole time betting on how many days were left before he was completely bald. We came to a mutual agreement that it was within about three or four months. Give or take.

Two hours straight of teachers babbling. I was debating bringing some headache pills tomorrow. Nothing better than smuggling some drugs to school, eh? (This is bad, children. Do not do this, even if you have intense headache-inducing teachers preaching crap to you eight hours a day.)

The lovely monotonous bell frees us from Chemistry. Two hours down, four more to go.

And I go through them all. AP European History (I am the dumbest smart person for taking that class), Spanish III, English, and Foods.

Ah, Foods. Last class of the day, relaxing with a happy stomach and a comfortable room. Sanctuary.

My two best guy friends, Shane and Elliot, are both in this class with me. They only agree to sit at the same table as each other because they are both friends with me. They are mortal enemies and no matter how hard I've tried in the past, they're oil and water. Un-mixable. Separate elements.

I'm listening to the two bicker as the rest of the students pile into the classroom. It's a big class- the only empty seat is at our table.

One last student walks in.

Guess who.

* * *

So yes.

Jesus is in my Foods class, sixth hour.

"Hello there," our teacher greets him, "you can grab the last seat over there, hun." I smile at our teacher. She's so special. _'Hun.' _Who doesn't love Mrs. Wilson? She makes us foooooood. And calls people 'hun' and 'hunny' and 'sweetie'. Typical personality for a woman who teaches all the consumer sciences.

Shane and Elliot are all eyes as Jesus' stunt double grabs a seat at our table. I can see the envy so flamboyantly in their eyes, it makes me want to crack up.

_It's like Brad Pitt just ate their ego for lunch and then spit it out because it wasn't his favorite type of Caviar. _

I don't know what to do. Ignore him? Act like we haven't truly met yet? I hate being social. If I were a hermit crab, life would be so dandy-

"Hey there," he says as he thunks his backpack on the tiled floor. It takes me a second to figure out he's talking to me.

"Hey," I greet with a friendly smile.

Shane and Elliot are dead silent. They even stopped verbally pestering each other. Which means something. I can see it all over their faces: _You know him?! _

I decide to throw them a bone.

"Finished that PreCalc assignment yet?" I ask casually. He groans a bit.

"Dreading it," he answers. I laugh lightly and raise my eyebrows at Shane and Elliot, who finally get their dumb questions answered. I swivel my chair so I can listen to what Mrs. Wilson is saying.

"So, let's see who of you all I know. Shannon, Jim, Darius, nice to see you again Neha, Elliot, Shane- oh yeah Shane hunny, I need that syllabus sheet back from you for third hour, Macy- hey sweetie, oh, and someone I don't know?"

She smiles brightly at the new guy. The Jesus guy.

"Sora," he says, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilson."

"Sora, hmm? What a nice name. Never heard that one before, do you know the meaning behind it?"

Shane cuts Sora off before he can answer, slightly interested in the subject.

"Doesn't it mean sky or something?"

Sora nods his head in Shane's direction. "Yup," he agrees.

_Sky. As poetic as that sounds, it makes me wonder if his parents are hippies. _

"Nice to meet you too, Sora," Mrs. Wilson says before she finishes off her name game with the rest of the class. No one seems to be paying attention, though. Their eyes are a a three-course meal, centered around Sora as the mouthwatering dessert. Which makes me a little bit frustrated, because I don't like people staring in my general direction. Can you say 'unsettling'?

Well, at least Shane and Elliot are back to their normal selves. They're debating over which era of music was the best by the time class is over. Or more importantly, _school is over. _

The excitement of going home is enough to advert people's attention from Sora, which seems to make him more comfortable. He looked pretty tense when everyone was staring him down. Not like I noticed- Well I did, but- Okay, I couldn't help it. So sue me. (Wait, please don't. I've found this phrase actually gets responses that I'd rather not deal with . . .)

A feathery voice fills the empty air around me as I'm packing up my stuff. It's, surprise surprise, Sora.

"Are those two okay . . .?" he asks, genuine curiosity tainting his tone.

"Who? Shane and Elliot?"

"Yeah."

_Nope. They're mutated egotistical armadillos that can transform into humans so they can steal our education, overthrow it, and take over the world. _

"Nah, they're just teenagers," I answer. I'm kind of wondering why this kid is even bothering with these little stranger-like chats with me. If he wants to go find a chick, why doesn't he go hit up a blonde prep down one of the many hallways? I'm sure you can spot about five within twenty seconds, strutting their stuff like they either have to pee really badly, or their hips have spontaneously melted into Jell-o. Take your pick.

"I see," he smiles, "It must be nice to have close friends like that."

Despite being freaked out that he seems to be treating me like I'm his psychologist, I see where he's coming from.

"You'll make friends fast, if that's what you're worried about," I assure him.

He grunts. I'm not sure if that's an agreement, or he's just thinking. One way or another, I find it hard not to watch his facial expressions. They're weird. Like, he knits his eyebrows together a lot, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

_Then again, what teenager doesn't feel like that?_

"I've gotta head out. See ya Sora," I say politely and walk out of the classroom. I hear his distant reply as I'm halfway down the hallway, spotting Shane and Elliot as they harass Lacey. I see her laughing and punching Elliot in the stomach. He probably said some stupid sexist joke, as usual. Men.

It takes me a second, but I do come to realize something. Sora is right. It's a privilege to have great friends like I do. You can't just walk up to Subway and order up a friend, condiments and all. It doesn't work like that. Though it would be funny if you could have your friends toasted.

Anyway.

Lacey automatically holds out her arms as I sneak up by her, giving me a short hug. It's nature. We see each other, we hug each other. It's like breathing. And some days, it's like crying. And on those days, it feels so good because those short hugs last longer, and they don't stop until you can pull away and smile the way you do when you're normal- you know, happy.

Wow, I really really love my friends. This makes me feel even worse for Jesus- er, Sora.

Suddenly Shane and Elliot are tackling us both, and we're a flying heap of adolescent body parts giving way to gravity. I land sprawled across Elliot somehow, and he's cracking up underneath my elbow. I think about punching his arm but decide against it and and struggle to get up off him. Lacey and I are laughing hysterically at the idiots rolling across the hallway when I realize the hallways are completely empty. And my mom is probably waiting outside, wondering where I am. It's been almost twenty minutes since school got out.

"Guys, I gotta go," I say, waving goodbye.

"Bye!" they chorus.

I smile and run outside, spotting the fire-red Jeep waiting in the circle-drive.

_I really need to get a car._

"Hey, hun. Have a good day back?"

I plunk my backpack on top of my lap and close the door.

"Yup."

"Meet anyone new?"

I think a bout the question. And I look out the window, the corner of my mouth creeping up into a crooked grin.

"Actually, yes."


End file.
